


if you think i'll take a bullet for you, you're dreaming

by penrosequartz



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, Face Punching, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, based off that one scene in 4x01, i have no idea what this is. absolutely no concept behind this whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 15:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosequartz/pseuds/penrosequartz
Summary: “Anything else?” Terri clicked her pen, superiority oozing through her tone.“Nope,” Adam muttered quietly, “Don’t think so.”





	if you think i'll take a bullet for you, you're dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> i LITERALLY have no idea what this is the concept is weak as shit but i wanted to publish because why not am i right?

Fergus was absolutely fuming.

Adam was mad, of course - Terri was proving to be quite a difficult obstacle in the office and all they wanted to do was claim a bit of credit for their own bloody policy, was that so much to ask? And on top of that, she’d said that 6PM was “effectively tomorrow” when Adam and Fergus had both been staying late at the office.

Not that they’d necessarily been _working,_ but the point stood - they were there. They even came up with some actual policies at one point (that point being Fergus managing to get out the words “I’ve got an idea about aged care,” quickly followed by Adam telling him to shut the fuck up, and get on with giving him the best blowjob he’d had in about six years). Besides, they had genuinely been working the past week - Fergus hadn’t seemed to be in the mood, though he’d certainly been in _a_ mood.

The smug little smile Terri gave him really lit Adam’s fuse, but it was nothing compared to the reaction it got out of Fergus. He absolutely exploded out of his chair, attempting to tower over the communications officer and failing rather miserably. Fergus didn’t seem to notice, however, launching straight into a tangential rant about musicals with a little too much volume and not a lot of subtlety.

“Anything else?” Terri clicked her pen, superiority oozing through her tone.

“Nope,” Adam muttered quietly, “Don’t think so.”

He stood aside and let her through. It was almost like she wanted to get fired- ah. Well. That’d explain it, actually.

“Bloody hell, Fergus,” he turned back after closing the door, “Could you make it any more obvious that you’ve got a severe case of the, you know. Closets?”

The junior minister was sitting in his chair again, head resting on the diary he’d left open on his desk.

“You’ll get lines in your face from that,” Adam sighed, approaching his ¿boyfriend? and attempting to lift the man’s body upright. It wasn’t like they weren’t both getting lines already - Westminster stress. And even with that stress...

Adam had longingly pined after known Fergus for a long time, but never in those years had he seen Fergus have such an outburst.

“You alright?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Fergus mumbled into his collar, sitting up, slumped in his chair, his eyes shut, “Never been better. Christ, that woman knows how to get under your skin, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Adam nodded awkwardly, “Might have been a bit of an overreaction though, going off like that.”

Fergus didn’t reply.

“I know you’re stressed, love-”

“Adam.”

Something in Fergus’ tone made him pause. There was a forcefulness to the way Fergus bit out his name.

“Yes?”

“Mannion said… something. To me. Last week,” Fergus’ eyes were still clamped tightly shut, “I know I’ve been acting a bit off, I’m sorry. I just keep thinking about it.”

“Keep thinking about what?” Adam asked. This didn’t bode well. Peter had a tendency to not shut the fuck up when he should. Fucking Tories, he was tired of the lot of them.

“I know Phil makes comments sometimes, but…” Fergus trailed off.

Adam didn’t like this. Fergus’ voice was watery, he sounded… sad, almost frightened, and that was uncomfortable, sure, but mostly worrying. He couldn’t cry at his desk, he was a politician, not a secretary whose boss had just broken it off - and yet, Adam found something forming in his throat, not a lump of grief or fear, but a knot of anger. He wanted to tell Fergus to get it together. He wanted to tell him to suck it up.

He couldn’t, though. He remembered school, a private one, high walls, high standards. He remembered being spat on and shoved against walls. Fergus, surely, would have had it worse than he did - but no amount of empathy for him would erase Adam’s memories.

They locked him in a cupboard, once. Adam didn’t get out for five hours.

So, yes, Adam wanted to tell Fergus that it wasn’t that bad, that he should get over it. But he’d had some experience with… dealing with shit, in the past. And crying to your boyfriend over your lukewarm coffee and your office plant? Certainly not the worst coping mechanism in the book.

“This was different,” Fergus finally looked at Adam.

_Shit,_ he thought, _he really is going to cry._

“What did he say?” Adam asked gently, the anger shifting from his throat to his stomach, deeper, more fuel to it.

Fergus was silent for a moment, debating himself internally. Adam knew that look. Don’t tell anyone / _he needs to know_. Don’t show weakness / _it_ _hurts._ Toxic masculinity _and_ internalised homophobia? In one convenient package? What a bargain.

“It was really bad,” Fergus eventually said, quietly. There was a commotion in the rest of the office outside. Adam couldn’t have cared less.

 

* * *

 

Basically, he punched Mannion in the face.

There was a journalist in the building - _why?_ \- and she was good, too, and he almost wished he could ask her to do him a favour. He knew that wasn’t fair, though, because she was just doing her job; reporting on every British parliamentary scandal with efficiency and a heavy dose of mockery. She was doing her job, and he was doing his - protecting Fergus. That was his job description, wasn’t it? Advise him. Make him seem electable. Make him seem down-to-earth, relatable, likeable (a challenge). Step in front when people throw shit.

Punch homophobes in the face.

It had been pretty bad, actually. There was a crackling kind of noise, and his knuckles were sore, but it was worth it. It was worth it for the look on Peter’s face, and Phil’s, and Terri’s, and Stewart’s, and Glenn’s - oh, Glenn’s mortified expression was absolute _gold._

He wasn’t fired (miraculously), mostly because legally Mannion couldn’t fire him, and the rest of the LibDems just cracked up over it. He imagined they didn’t know what the fight - if you could call it that - was actually about.

Adam would admit it, if only to himself. He was terrified of losing Fergus. He was terrified of Fergus losing his career, especially over something like this.

Adam kept his head down for the rest of the week, and Peter didn’t say anything about _fags_ or _queers_ for the rest of the month! An achievement. Then the government fell apart, but- well, that’s another story. The most important thing about the whole ordeal was _Fergus’_ expression after he punched Mannion in the face; awed, shocked, worried, and a little impressed.

Fergus was absolutely fuming, but in the end, it had been nothing compared to the reaction it got out of Adam.


End file.
